“By Jove—of course,” said Cyril with a glance at his watch. “If you’ll excuse me, Rizzio——”
“Betty is going to Scotland tomorrow early and I think she wants to go to bed.”
Rizzio laughed. “The war has made us virtuous. Eleven o’clock! We’re losing our beauty sleep.”
He followed them to the door, but pleading a desire for a night-cap, remained in the smoking-room.
“I promised that you should take me home,” said the girl to Hammersley as they passed along the hall. “But I’m sorry if I interrupted——”
“Awf’ly glad,” he murmured. “Nothing important, you know. Club matter. Personal.”
Doris stopped just outside the drawing-room door and searched his face keenly, while she whispered:
“And the threats—of exposure. Oh, I heard that. I couldn’t help it—Cyril—”
He glanced down at her quickly.